


Dreaming in Silver and Gold

by Mollypop



Series: My Big Buddy [5]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Artist!Harry, Dysfunctional Family, Ends with some angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Harry was a virgin, M/M, Mostly fluff and smut, Not so happy ending, Porn With Plot, Smut, Straight up sex, Swearing, Virgin Harry, Virgin Louis (?), athlete!Louis, blowjob, harry is thirteen, louis is seventeen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-17 19:58:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5883640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mollypop/pseuds/Mollypop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I've never kissed anyone," Harry threw out, "Well-I mean, never anyone beside you," he giggled it off for a second, before realizing Louis himself wasn't laughing along with him. He peeked up at Louis as quickly as he could while the laughter died down, only to see he kept his wide eyes on Harry.<br/>"No one else?" Louis finally asked, or more or less breathed.<br/>"No one,"<br/>The moment stretched and stretched and stretched...<br/>And then it snapped. </p><p>Or the one where Harry and Louis finally have sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreaming in Silver and Gold

Harry had a knack for a variety of talents.

Some were more impressive than others, such as his ability to squeeze into jeans two sizes too small was quite underwhelming to his ability to draw masterpieces in the making. Or how managing to fall on his face due to nothing but a gust of wind was grossly overshadowed by his talent for making sense of numbers and sequences. His sister always commented on how unfair it was that he could sketch an angel on paper, decorated with pastels, and then sit down and do both his and her math homework in the time she could complete one problem. But, the alien way he could make use of both artistry and intellect meant nothing at the side of his knack for losing people. 

They weren't his fault, of course, but it was amazing just how often fate enjoyed fucking with him. Not long after he tried his hand at running away from home, his father was finally kicked from the family house and, because she had been there his whole life, Harry stayed with his mother and only saw his father every other weekend and holiday. His dad had yet to find a proper job, so money wasn't exactly flowing in post-separation. Anne continued working the long days she did, working so late into the night Harry dared to say Gemma had raised him the last two years. Instead of spending time with her children when she could, their mother went out with the girls or on a date, which caused his immediate taste to the frozen dinners Anne thought she was so kind leaving in the freezer. Around his twelfth birthday, and first days of getting used to having divorced parents, Zayn's family decided on a change of pace and moved as far from their hollow town as they could. Phone calls and snapchats can't make up for a lacking human connection, and, eventually, all contact was all but lost. When Liam first began high school, he succeeded in passing his love of art and painting down to a ten-year old Harry... but the stress over becoming and overachieving honours student meant no more time for charcoals and friends. Niall was still around, always, of course. Through their course into middle school, the blonde had fallen in love with a guitar as his muse and not a pencil, so they could no longer spend every second of every minute of every hour of every day with each other. But, every Friday, like clockwork, Niall would show up to the Styles' house for their tradition of movies, video games, showing off a new song or drawing, and eating themselves into a coma until nearly the same time the next day. And Louis...Louis was a special case.

Harry hated to be the first to admit it, but he could see where Louis was coming from. The age gap of four years seemed like nothing when their interests only collided when deciding if Superman or Batman would win in a battle (Superman is a freakin' alien, what can Batman do to defend himself exactly?!). Now, Louis was seventeen. Interested in football, partying with the boys, flirting with as many girls as he could, and cars. Harry, at thirteen, loved drawing, music, observing instead of speaking, and being with Louis or Niall or Gemma on his own, never trying to impress anyone. They were nothing but two masses of colliding interests and ages. And, yet, there were versions of them that fit together like two puzzle pieces. The parts of Louis that were impressed with the distinct way Harry could paint a flower, and part of Harry impressed with how fast Louis could sprint across a field without tripping over nothing. Parts that appreciated each other like the best friends they had promised to always be.

Or-er-Harry might have begun to appreciate Louis far too much lately. He couldn't tell a soul when it began, because it wasn't one of those things that just happens out of the blue. But, well, Louis had become quite divine in the passing years. Like most children, he had grown into his looks and became ethereal. Dull brown hair had grown out and been styled just right so it shined like brilliant copper, and ghosted in a swoop just at a touch of his brows. Skin had shifted from a blotchy mess of tweenage hormones and blemishes into a smooth, soft, untouched canvas-and, God, did Harry imagine the gentile ways his fingers could dance across the apples of his cheeks, thumbs brushing beneath his eyes and soothing any doubts or worries away so nothing but gold was left in the air. Harry had remembered catching up to his big buddy in height, before suddenly being left by a probable five or six inches. A younger Harry might have been jealous and put on a pair of Gemma's clunky heels just so he could cross his arms over his chest with a triumphant smile. Now, his imagination flew across universes and universes of possibilities. He could picture Louis pushing him against a wall, towering over him so he was completely enveloped in shared heat, ordering Harry to wrap his legs around his waist so they were eye to eye. Their breath would mix in the inch of space between them, and Harry could stare into those oceans that everyone dared call blue eyes. Bright blue eyes with the flecks and strokes of green wrapping around the iris, fading into the blue like the surface and sea meeting, eyelashes creating a long, black line of solidified night, contrasting perfectly with the explosion of tropics beneath. Those eyes only focussed on Harry, only wanted Harry, calling out to him in a desperate and dark way before they finally closed and the single inch between them was-

"Looks pretty fantastic there, Haz," Gemma interrupted her brother's thoughts as she leaned against the desk. Harry blinked away the haze in front of his eyes until he could see the sketch book in front of him perfectly, pencils, erasers, and various methods of pigment covering the blank space around the book, "I'll give you anything for it," she continued, voice fuzzy and warm and distant, completely focussed on the drawing beneath the still hand. The sketch was of a boy, right leg kicked into the air so it sent a ball of fire into the sky, casting a warm highlight down the top of his head. His hands were in the pockets of his jeans, and his eyes were cast toward the sun above him, a smile as fiery spread across his face. Surrounding his wicked shape was a gradient of atmospheric changes: a light emerald-green dusted behind and below his feet, shifting to a baby blue somewhere around his shins, to a deep navy at his hip, to a violet at his chest, to a plum at the waterline of his eyes, and a deep black above his head so the sun could pop against the gentle colour. The ball of fire itself was a feathered shape of layers of crimson, canary, and burnt, until it looked as if they flames and floating embers were lifting away from the flat surface of the page. The colours didn't stretch the entire length of the page-no-they hugged the Sketch-Boy tightly, wrapped around him and kept close to his own warmth, and only extended about three or four inches away from him before once against fading into white. The boy himself had no colour, and was just a blob of empty, cream space and pencil lines and lead shading...except his eyes. His eyes were a deep, electric blue. Where the colours around him were soft and decorated, the watercolours Harry had used barely coming into a spectrum of sight, these eyes were made from ink. Deep, popping, magnetic, electrifying, blue ink, with the intense lines  and finishes so no white could be seen and pastel was a different planet. Harry flushed when he thought about who it was, standing there in his own world of magic, yet still managing to be the most eye-catching thing of all. He flipped the position of his book until it sat closed on his desk, black exterior completely matte.

"I mean it, I'll give you anything!" Gemma pleaded, getting on her knees and taking Harry's hands in her own. He didn't want to say he was shocked, but not saying it would be a lie. Gemma never asked for any pieces Harry had made, she was much more content to admire from afar, "I absolutely, positively  _need_ this one, Harry. I don't know what it is about it, but it looks so real and yet so fantasy," she continued, eyes glowing when he smiled bashfully at her words, "I'll give you...my whole next paycheck...My laptop...My eternal, undying love?" she tried, pausing each time she listed a new object to test Harry's reaction-which was always a quick shake of the head. He was about to open his mouth to tell Gemma this was the one thing he wasn't willing to lose, when she opened her mouth again, "Louis?"

Harry inhaled sharply, catching spit in his lungs in the process and sending himself into a coughing fit so sharp tears stung in his eyes, "Ex-Excuse me?!" he asked through his disgusting coughing, swiveling his chair around to follow her as she skipped to Harry's window. Sure enough, he was there, carefully perched on a slanted section of roof that was only a small jump away from the front yard's tree. His hair was messy, blown in all different direction, baggy shirt waving in the wind, eyes an electric blue despite the colours trying to steal the spotlight around him- and Harry was positive he would have to colour the rest of Sketch-Louis when he got the chance, "...Oh..." 

"Hey, Louis," Gemma chirped, lifting the window frame until Louis was no longer separated from the two of them and the night air could flow in. Harry could hear the smile on her face as she did, leaning against the bottom frame so the neckline of her shirt could hang lower...

"Hey, Gem," Louis answer, slight chuckle punctuating his words, "Hey, Hazza," he continued, looking away from Gemma and flashing a sun-like smile in his direction. Harry took this as his invitation to leap toward his window-which he did, elbowing Gemma in the process so they could both share the small space, "I have something absolutely  _brilliant_ that you need to see- and make sure to bring your sketchbook," Louis sang, eyes never leaving Harry as he let out the invitation. Harry smiled weakly, kicking at his sister's ankles where Louis' eyes couldn't reach. Gemma winced, trying to keep the smile on her face as she leaned farther out the window...so her shirt left shirt sleeve came off completely to show more skin, "You can come too, if you want, Gem," Louis smirked toward her, eyes quickly scanning her up and down. Somewhere beneath the frame of the view, Harry felt a sharp pain in his ankles that put a full frown on his face. 

"She can't come," Harry rushed out, probably too fast. Louis didn't look away from Gemma immediately, almost lingered there for a second as if she were the most interesting thing in the world. And-as much as it killed him- Harry knew that his sister was attractive. She was his muse most of the time, with that perfect bone structure and mature body. She was eighteen with very clear cleavage after all, much more enticing than a thirteen year old in a baggy sweater. When Louis did begin to turn away, Gemma opened her mouth to defuse the lie, "She has to fill out a bunch of applications, and has homework, and needs to-"

"I don't need to-" Gemma started.

Harry was already sprinting to grab his sketchbook and a pencil, handing them to Louis and throwing one leg out the window and to the roof, "I can do that stuff later, let me co-" she started again, Harry steadying himself against Louis (maybe for a second too long) before grabbing the top of the window and forcing it down. Gemma caught the bottom of it, trying to fit her head out from the small space beneath, "Harry!" she scolded when he wouldn't show mercy. She barely pulled her head in when the window frame came crashing down with a plastic smash. Gemma huffed and stomped her foot against the ground, throwing up her middle finger before shutting the blue blinds of Harry's window, and stomping away so heavily that both boys could feel the rumble against the roof. 

Louis handed the sketchbook and pencil back to Harry, their hands brushing softly against each other- gentle as a paintbrush placing fine detail and warm enough that Harry thought he would melt. As soon as his hands were free, Louis leapt the small gap between the roof and the tree, gaining his balance on all fours silently. The younger boy looked down to his feet, suddenly feeling guilty...guilty and sad...guilty and sad and nervous that Louis might have made the short drive to the Styles house to steal away Gemma and not him, maybe he had even ruined Louis' night and he was angry with him now. He was this swirling ball of negative emotions all the sudden, and all he wanted to do was turn around and tell Gemma to keep the older boy company while he hid under his covers and sketched out a blue and black version of himself, melting so his smile turned into a frown and his feet formed puddles on the floor. But, when he finally did manage to look away from the tips of his non-melted converse, Louis had his left hand outstretched toward him while his right clung to the base of the tree. Harry was thankful for the cover of night and the chill, because he would die if Louis knew he was young enough to be flustered over something such as this, and took the older boy's hand and let himself be guided from tile to wood. The grip on his hand didn't end once both boys were safe on the other side, and Harry felt sparks shoot up his hand and shoot fireworks around his body- which completely startled the butterflies in his stomach so they were fluttering around in every direction.

"You nearly took her whole head off, you know," Louis scoffed, giggles taking over him so the sun spread across his cheeks, and burned Harry's doubts away completely. 

* * *

"So...that...star... _there_ is Castor, and that one is Pollux," Louis had his left hand pointed up to the sky, moving his index finger between stars until they formed shapes that no one else could see. Both boys laid on the Tomlinson roof, Louis' car the only one parked in the driveway or street, shoulder to shoulder with a forgotten sketch pad to one side and a clunky telescope to the other. While Louis' eyes were looking toward the stars, Harry watched the way his friend's lips moved as he rattled off, "They're brothers. Castor was mortal like you and me, and Pollux was immortal- which is odd considering they're the Twins and you'd figure they'd get the same shit," he shrugged. Harry wondered if it were normal for two boys of their ages to be so close to one another, and he didn't trust himself enough not to reach out and touch the skin of Louis' cheek or neck, so he locked his hands under his bum so he could feel the indents from the tiles, "When Castor died, Pollux missed him a whole fucking lot. So, he decided he would share his immortality with him; that's how they both ended up in the sky," Harry couldn't help but smile. This was a private part of Louis. A part that was on fire and released star dust instead of embers. No girl saw this, no teammate even knew that Louis loved his own rooftop, Louis didn't even come up here unless his entire family was nowhere to be seen. This was a part of Louis that only Harry knew...the side that made the four years between them vanish. Harry imagines just taking one of his throbbing hands and wrapping them around Louis' fingers-even if it were just holding pinkies. Louis suddenly stopped talking, placing his left hand over his chest and turning to face Harry (who was obviously already looking back at him), "Were you even listening?" he asked, laughing through it so he doesn't come off too serious.

And though Harry knew Louis isn't pissed or anything, he internally panics. How do you calmly tell your closest friend that you are very interested in the idea of them bending you over the table? He must have looked like an idiot for not responding, except for the pathetic squeaks from him trying to make up a response that didn't have to do with tables or bending over. Louis still stared at him though, a smile across his face with expectations for there to be something-anything to go off, "I keyed my mom's car the other day," was what came out. Which was true, yeah, but...what the hell?

"What?" Louis asked, turning on his right side so he was completely facing Harry. The younger boy didn't dare look now. He didn't need to have the image of Louis leaning his head into his hand while the moon created a soft glow around him figure burned into his retinas so that was all he knew when he went blind. Harry didn't say a word, just trying to breathe and remember that Louis was the one thing he didn't want to lose, so he should just act like he had been for the past nine years and not be so jittery and thirteen, "I stole this telescope from school," Louis laughed, free hand motioning to the hunk of metal behind him. 

"I still have Boo the Bear...he sits under my pillow now," the younger turned to face Louis, not leaning into his hand like the older because he liked feeling small beside him. He liked having to look up into the shaded areas of his face and across the places the moon highlighted. He kept his head flat against the tile, curling into a tighter ball so he could be even smaller. And-okay-he didn't go blind, which was a plus-but, he would have to add this to the list of things to sketch when he got home.

"I've used Lottie's lipstick on more than one occasion," 

"I paint pictures in my head sometimes," 

"I've noticed," Louis adds like its nothing- like he didn't just blow Harry's mind. He noticed? How do you notice what's going on in someone else's head? Louis couldn't just walk around in there, could he? He couldn't step inside the vast, ever-growing museum that was Harry's imagination. In there were paintings of everything he wished for and wanted. In there were paintings of Louis, "I count things. All the time: Tiles, heartbeats, the number of steps I take before I kick the ball. Kind of like you mind-paint," 

Harry wanted to throw 'I've noticed' back at him, but he couldn't. He didn't ever notice Louis. No, he never noticed the way Louis' lips would sometimes move when he mind was somewhere else. How he would stare at the tiles on Harry's kitchen floor and whisper the numbers until he reached the number thirty-five. He didn't notice how Louis scanned his pizza before he took a bite, checking the quantity of each topping before finally shoving the slice into his mouth. He didn't notice any of that. No way, "I've never kissed anyone," Harry threw out, "Well-I mean, never anyone beside you," he giggled it off for a second, before realizing Louis himself wasn't laughing along with him. He peeked up at Louis as quickly as his could while the laughter died down, only to see he kept his wide eyes on Harry. 

"No one else?" Louis finally asked, or more or less breathed.

"No one," 

The moment stretched and stretched and stretched...

And then it snapped. Louis sat up suddenly to shift toward the telescope, looking through the lens to adjust it and get it in the best place. Harry didn't bother following, only fell back to his back with the unbearable want to punch himself in the face for proving to Louis he was both a weirdo and a baby in one simple phrase. If only he could dance up in the stars with Castor and Pollux, looking down at the billions of stories unfolding instead of being part of them and managing to screw them up. He figured he should start his shameful, anxiety fueled walk home before Louis could even turn around, "Alright, it's all set up," the older boy interrupted, effectively cutting off any proper methods of escape routes, "Bring your sketch pad," Louis bounced in place, waving his hands around for Harry to move faster, to which he responded by moving as fast as he could. He flipped to grab his pad, and nearly fell down the roof in the shuffle to the telescope, but at least he was fast, "Look, look, look, look!" 

Harry looked through the lens while Louis opened the book to a fresh page, tapping the pencil against the page with anticipation. Harry meant to take it, meant to begin sketching whatever he saw, but he was completely caught off guard. The stars seemed so close, bright pops of white and light blue against a seemingly black world-yet the clouds of dark blue and red-purple swirled in the background. It was like dancing with the cosmos, spinning in an endless world of beauty, "See, see, I knew you'd love it!" Louis clapped his hands together like the child he wasn't, "Oh, here," he leaned forward, fiddling with something on the telescope to zoom in even closer to the painting in the sky. But, Harry couldn't focus on anything. Louis had an arm practically wrapped around him, their thighs pressing together. He couldn't help but feel the warmth of the contact against the cold night, and the ghost of Louis' white breath into the air beside him made him realize their faces must have been inches apart, "Can you see the Twins, Haz?" he asked, keeping his voice so quiet it was like they really were up there in the stars, sucking away all sound. And, with the stuttering, hormonal, desperate thoughts, Harry worried that his friend might pull away if he said yes, and he couldn't have that happen so soon. As soon as he shook his head, Louis leaned in even closer to adjust the view, his freezing cheek pressed to Harry's own, his front pressed tight to Harry's back, "Better?" he breathed right into Harry's ear. 

"Uh..." Harry blanked, mouth suddenly completely dry. Despite everything his mind was telling him, his body tried it's best not to sink into the boy behind him, staying rigid. His hands were clinging to the pad in his lap, feeling the thing shake against him.

"Harry," Louis' voice sounded soft, which was soothing enough for Harry to look away from the unfocused image of the cosmos above. Louis was shuffling to his feet, already tugging at Harry's sleeve for him to follow along. Clinging, desperately to his sketch pad, Louis led Harry down his roof, into the familiar darkness of his empty house, up the stairs, and into his bedroom. This wasn't exactly new or odd, Harry had practically grown up in this room. But, something was different. Louis didn't turn on the lights, closed the door behind them, didn't say anything or face Harry when there was finally no where left for him to walk. 

He was about to suggest maybe Louis should take him home-things were obviously getting uncomfortable-when Louis suddenly pulled the baggy shirt over his head to reveal a slender frame. Harry's heart started stuttering, resounding through every pressure point in his body until that was all he could feel, until that was all he could hear. Louis turned around, an innocent smile playing on his face like he wasn't mentally assaulting the younger boy. And no, Harry did not look at Louis' body. He didn't marvel at the slight indentations of forming abs or the broad shoulders or the deep collar bones you could fucking drink out of-shit, "Wh-What are you doin-" he started, his voice meek and caught somewhere between his heart and his throat. It didn't matter anyway. Before he could even get the words out, Louis had launched himself forward, pressing Harry's much tinier frame against the frame of the door and sent their lips colliding into each other.

This kiss wasn't like the others. This wasn't like the chaste lips touching to say a quick goodbye or stop tears. This wasn't a kiss that made Harry's very being fill with endless amounts of oxygen that swept his feet off the ground and caused him to float for hours and hours before finally coming back down to earth. This kiss was sloppy. All teeth and tounge grinding against each other. And while his legs were nowhere near wrapped around his waist, Louis was towering over him, keeping his left arm against the wall for stability, and his right hand pressed to Harry's jaw to keep it wide open. This was everything Harry dreamed of and more, but he didn't expect to feel so vulnerable, so inexperience. He didn't expect that he couldn't understand how to breathe during all this- it was like the air that usually flew him into the air was wrapped around his neck and suffocating him until he couldn't even see colour correctly. He could feel tears pricking at the inner corners of his eyes, and he couldn't decide whether it came from the burn in his lungs or his crotch, but it didn't matter because everything else was coming first. He was practically whimpering small sobs, and Louis was everywhere at once, and nothing felt real, and-and, "Calm down, Hazza, calm down," Louis whispered when he pulled away, giving Harry a chance to suck in a huge gulp of air. The younger boy could barely see straight, but he could tell Louis looked completely calm and sweet as if there wasn't a string of spit connecting their lips now. 

"Sorry, Haz...I shouldn't have-I mean-I," Louis sputtered, pushing away from the door with his left arm, "I can't do this," he finally sighed, turning away and walking toward the shirt on his bed.

Harry wasn't very fond of the cold air cooling him down. He wasn't fond of the hard on he was sporting. He wasn't fond of Louis walking away with doubts that he wanted him. And that's what fueled his confidence as he threw his sketchbook to the ground and stomped across the floor. Louis was just picking his shirt up off the floor when he was alerted by the heavy footsteps, and didn't have time to ask what was wrong before Harry had wrapped his fingers around his neck and pulled their lips back together. He even dragged his tongue across Louis' bottom lip, sending a tingling shiver throughout him and making his thoughts mottled and fuzzy. That simple gesture was enough for Louis to wrap his arms around Harry's waist, and went back to exploring every inch of his mouth as the two tripped their way to the bed so Harry was once against trapped in that suffocating warmth he craved.

"We can stop. We can stop when you want, okay, Haz? Just tell me when you've had enough and I'll stop," Louis gasped, pushing the hair away from Harry's forehead so his entire face could be seen. It was odd, Louis' fingers trailing down to his cheek until his thumb rubbed across the soft skin there, ghosting in circles it might put one to sleep under different circumstances. Those electric blue eyes looking down at him like he was made of gold, like he was something precious, treasured, and-maybe he was making this up through his swirling vision-loved. The moment held even after Harry nodded his head in understanding, just staring at each other and taking it the moonlight bouncing off their features, and Harry briefly wondered if Louis had counted something in that time.

Then, those soft hands focussed on soothing beneath Harry's glossy eyes moved down until they disappeared under the hem of his jumper. The touch through his fingers stayed just as soft as they lifted the shirt up and off, sending it into a growing heap of clothing on the floor. His hands continued their exploration of Harry's skin, dragging up and down his sides and across the very tip of his waistband until the boy writhed beneath him-not familiar with any of these sensations. Once he was sick of just watching, he attached his lips to Harry's neck, sucking or biting as much as he could without leaving lasting marks. Harry breathed heavily, trying to keep his calm and his quiet, which was enough to entice Louis to trail open-mouthed kisses from neck to chest, only to swirl his tongue around one of the boy's nipples. A choked moan slipped past Harry's lips because since when were his nipples sensitive? He was a guy, was that even supposed to happen? Louis let out a pleased hum against his skin before grazing his teeth across the sensitive skin, smirking when Harry unknowingly arched his back off the bed and into his mouth. 

Louis' hands worked as Harry was distracted elsewhere, undoing his jeans and throwing them off in seconds (Harry had never been so thankful for such a useless talent). And, keeping as much innocent eye contact as he could, Louis released his hold on the sensitive buds and moved tantalizingly slow down Harry's abdomen, sucking a red mark here and there that would be better hidden. After what seemed like hours of skin grazing together, the older boy finally reached the hem of Harry's boxers, stopping his kissing and sucking and staying just above the waistband. Harry watched him with wide eyes, trying to control his twitching body and focus on the way Louis dragged his tongue around his abs, or the way his hands trailed away from his ankles. His fingers dragged across the soft skin of Harry's thigh, beginning just above the knee and circling to just below the top of his thigh, before dropping back down to restart the cycle. And, after the younger boy had opened his legs a wide length in the hopes of getting more attention, Louis grabbed his boxers and dragged them down just as slow. Down and down until Harry was completely naked and vulnerable against the mattress, "Fuck, Louis, please," he finally whined.

"Please what?" Louis asked, sitting up and tossing the underwear into the vortex on the floor. 

"Touch me," the young boy strained, losing control of coherent thought and actions as Louis shifted between his open legs, towering over him again.

"Touch you where? Tell me what you want, Harry," the way Louis' voice was all soft and caring beneath a layer of feigned demand made Harry lose his mind. Just the way he spoke something as simple as his given name threatened to throw him over the edge and into absolute, childish insanity. Any remaining pride he had left within him was thrown to the wind and replaced with pure, unadulterated arousal. 

"Jesu-Suck me off," Harry more or less commanded, fingers tangled into the sheets. For a moment, he thought he saw Louis freeze over besides the thick swallow that sent his Adam's apple bobbing, "Get down and suck me off," he panted, more bashful and suggestive. The blue-eyed boy smiled at the feigned confidence before entrancingly crawling back down. He said something about pulling hair and moving hips, but Harry couldn't process any of it as he gave a few strokes of his length, his larger hand feeling like Eden against the sensitive skin. Louis slid his tongue around the head, testing the waters. Pleased with the hitched gasp from the boy below, he took the head into his mouth and swirled it with his tongue, continuing the motion around the shaft as his head bobbed down the entire length (which wasn't shocking, Harry was practically a kid after all; but  _damn_ )-incredibly careful not to look away as he did so.

Harry's hand shot down to Louis' hair, clenching it until his knuckles turned white and connecting the dots to the previous dialogue somewhere in the more sane part of his mind. Louis' gaze was intimidating and powerful and  _fucking hot_ and loving and soft and blissfully overwhelming with each bob of his head, the somehow seductive sounds of spit cuppled with the visuals of hollowed cheeks and swollen lips. When Louis momentarily released Harry's dick from his mouth with a gasp of air, a string of saliva still connected from his lips, Harry damn near lost it. Breathy whimpers transformed into lewd moans and strained hiccups, which seemed to spark something in Louis, who picked up the pace and hummed against the length with a cocky look in his eyes. It took every ounce of willpower for him to not thrust his hips into the warmth, in fact going the opposite direction and shoving his hips into the springs of the mattress. Louis countered each time Harry would shift, keeping the entire dick in his mouth and keeping the imagery nice and astounding until Harry was tugging on his hair and kicking out his legs with tears in his eyes and a whine in his mewls. The green-eyed boy felt heat building in his stomach along the burn in his legs and hands, absolutely choking him and forcing his hips to rock back and forth into Louis' mouth. His eyes clenched shut with the begging for Louis to keep going and not stopping and please, please, please. It almost felt like some relief was finally coming back to his fogged body when he began begging, "Off, off, off, off," like it was a prayer. Louis pulled off for good with a sloppy 'pop' and a smile. While it was a brilliantly perfect sight- Louis wiping his mouth with the back of his hand- Harry just couldn't stop the needy whine that forced its way from his lips with the disconnect.

Louis sat, patiently, with his hands folded over his crotch, smiling at down at Harry as he tried to force himself away from subspace and form real words for actual sentences. Then, whether it be from pity or a lack of will, he placed hundreds of soft kisses around the boy's until some conscious came into his pupils. And, as soon as there was coherent thought, Louis ripped it away by attacking Harry's neck with soft bites and suckles, nuzzling into his neck as Harry stroked through the chestnut locks, "Tell me what you want me to do to you, Harry," he whispered against the shell of his ear before pressing his lips back to the innocent skin of the neck, right hand reaching around Harry's dick and giving agonizing, slow strokes. One particularly hard bite extracted a cry from Harry and a sharp inhale from Louis, both rolling their hips against each other. 

"Fuck me," Harry begged, reaching out to Louis as he pulled away and began working the belt around his jeans. 

"Reach into the nightstand; there's a tube and a little packet. Grab them for me?" Louis asked, throwing his pants and boxers into bedroom abyss. And Harry was absolutely thrilled that the lights were shut off, because if Louis had seen him staring, and the way his face flushed at the exposing of his cock- hard and different from what he assumed it would be in every fantasy of this he had ever had-he would probably have to die. He didn't even look away when he felt around for the tube and packet, handing them to Louis without even thinking of what they were until he heard the pop of a lid. 

"Wait, what are you doing?" Harry asked, sitting up on his elbows.

"The fuck you mean what am I doing?" Louis asked, stopping his motions and simply holding the bottle vertically in his hand.

"What's that for?"

"I believe I just heard someone beg me to fuck them," the blue-eyed boy laughed, clicking the bottle closed and unknowingly make Harry's heart slip toward his throat.

Yes, Harry had said that. He couldn't deny it. It was out there, "W-Well, I-" It was just that he didn't have a clue about sex it general, let alone gay sex. It was only recently that school had even opened up to the idea-and even then they didn't explain anything, "I mean, I jus-" he stuttered again, frustrated that he had allowed himself to look like the biggest idiot in the world to the naked man on top of him. 

"Listen to me, then," Louis spoke as soft and comforting as Harry remembered, placing a freezing hand to the younger boy's flushed cheek, "You trust me, don't you?" to which Harry nodded furiously, almost like he was concerned Louis had forgotten that, "If you feel uncomfortable or in too much pain, you'll tell me. It will help tons if you relax as much as possible. Things will feel proper weird for a bit, but if you give it some time, it'll be the best thing you've felt in your life. Yeah?" Harry nodded, face finally cooling down against Louis' soothing touch, "Good. We can mess with this shit later," Louis chuckled, tossing the bottle of lube somewhere against the bed so Harry could feel and hear the bounce, "Lick," He held three fingers in front of Harry's face. The green-eyed boy didn't question it as he took the fingers in his mouth, wrapping his tongue around the digits as seductively as he could despite having a mental meltdown. When he could feel the spit nearly dribble down his chin, he released and let Louis pull away. Louis pushed Harry back, gently off his elbows and back into the pillow, capturing his lips as he pressed one finger into the boy's tight hole.

"Fu-" Harry yanked away from the kiss, finishing the curse word with a not so pleasant sound as Louis continued pressing the finger through the rings of clenched muscle.

"Breathe and relax," Louis spoke calmly, moving Harry's hands around the back of his neck, "Wrap your arms around me. Hit me, scratch me, bite me, do whatever you have to, yeah? Trust me, Harry, it'll feel amazing. I wouldn't lie to you," which was enough for the younger boy to attempt at relaxation. Louis pressed his lips back to Harry's, trying to distract from the lower body sensations. Harry arched against the moving finger, lips moving against each other with each slide of the single digit in his ass. A second finger was inserted as soon as Louis felt the tension fade away, only to rise back up again as Harry stiffened entirely with the feeling of being pulled apart from the inside. The younger boy cringed, digging his nails into Louis' shoulders and tearing the skin away while he tried to paint something happy and light in his head, "Try to relax...You'll get used to it soo-" Louis moved his fingers a certain way, curling against the inner flesh and shooting something from Harry's stomach to his head, interrupting him with sharp shout before clamping a hand over his mouth. Louis stared at him for a few moments before repeating the motion, smiling wide when he received the same reaction, "There we go,"

"Oh. My.  _God._ " Harry gasped, shooting a wide grin to Louis with dazed eyes, "What was that? Do it again!"

"A secret of the world is that men love it up the ass, Harry. There's this little gem called the prostate, and you just so happen to feel it when you graze over it," Louis' shining smile of innocence that he had held the whole session shaped into something wicked, "This is brilliant," he repeated massaging the delicate spot until Harry was pressing back against his fingers, murmuring useless phrases into the air. Louis continued scissoring his fingers, pulling Harry apart as wide as he could go, curling his fingers without warning when things got too quiet, until Harry was writhing beneath him and seeing stars. Only then were the fingers removed, which was both the most disgusting and most arousing feeling Harry had experienced, and his legs hung wide apart in presentation as Louis coated his length in a generous amount of lube. Harry felt a strange sense of power as Louis couldnt tear his eyes away from his spread legs, even as he ripped the packet open and stretched the condom over himself, shaking while doing so. Though, the predatory look in his eyes had both boys wondering who really held the power.

"Take a deep breath and let it go when I tell you," Louis moved his left hand to the side of Harry's body, holding himself up on one, shaking arm while his right hand worked to align himself with Harry's hole. There was a pause, an apparent hesitation that made the younger boy's heart launch into his throat from a toxic cocktail of anticipation and anxiety. He focussed into Louis' blue eyes, trying to count the flecks of green in his eyes before the older boy reached down and kissed his cheek tenderly, "Ready?" he whispered so Harry could feel lips still ghosting over his cheeks. Harry didn't allow anxiety to dominate excitement, and he mumbled a response and tried to shut his brain off, "Breathe," Louis hitched his breath, pushing passed the tight muscles and grimacing when Harry immediately clenched. The younger boy dug his nails into the skin of Louis' back, letting out a choked cry and trying to paint happy thoughts into his head so he couldn't cry. Louis' now free right hand moved to pry one of Harry's hands away from his shoulder and locking their fingers together, "Are you alright, Harry? We can stop if you nee-"

" _No._ Um-It just really hurts. H-Holy shit," Harry winced through clenched teeth, blinking back tears while Louis dragged his thumb over the back of his hand. Any way the green-eyed boy shimmied his hips, he was met with shooting pain. 

Louis eyed him, visibly concerned but very strained at keeping his hips moving in at a slow pace, "Don't hold your breath, yeah? Your body will get used to it, I promise. Give it time," 

The shooting pain and throbbing hips dulled with each steady breath in and out and Harry wrapped his legs around Louis' waist to signal he was ready. Louis steadied his weight with both arms next to Harry's thin waist, and gave one roll of his hips. Both boys built up a steady pace despite the fact Harry's mind with split between feeling absolutely lost in everything Louis and how the sensation was the strangest thing he ever felt. The room was filled with tiny whimpers, muffled when Louis leaned down to connect his lips to wherever he could reach on Harry's body. As time went on, Harry's body seemed to break into a fit of pleasure, small whimpers turning into pornographic moans, sharp cries, and heavy breathing. His hands scratched wherever he could grab, tugged on Louis' hair, begged with sentences without subjects until the room was spinning. As Harry grew louder and more erratic, he finally heard Louis' grunts and moans in time with his own until there was no space for silence. 

Between the warm fullness and the repeated thrust dragging across sensitive bundles of nerves, Harry felt the familiar fire setting in his lower stomach and a dangerously attractive tightening between his legs. Every nerve in his body seemed to be turned hyper-sensitive so that even a brush of the skin or a drop of sweat was enough to send sparks flying across his muscles and through his veins.

"Shit, Haz, you feel amazing," Louis groaned, wrapping his hands around Harry and lifting his small hips off the bed. The sudden change in position reduced Harry to a perpetual silent scream, twitching beneath him and rutting his hips. The younger boy stared every time Louis clenched his blue eyes tight, watching how his teeth bit down on his lower lip until it was a heated red with moans drawling out, how his jaw line tightened, how each drop of sweat appeared from below his bangs and down his neck, chestnut hair matted to his forehead, and toned body looking painfully erotic and everything Harry had dreamed. All he could manage in response to the older boy's words was, "Y- Fucking hot," groaning when Louis' eyes opened to stare into his own, wicked smirk present across his cheeks. 

The discomfort had melted into a sense of completion, Harry wondering where he ended and Louis began and how he ever lived his life without Louis inside him. It sounded sentimental and ridiculous and Louis would have thought he was insane if he said it out load, so he painted it behind his eyelids. It was full of connecting red stings and shades of rose and sunbeams with flicks of star dust and gold, two boys sharing the same body and-and-Harry cried out as he felt his body begin blazing beneath the white-hot voracity of every thrust into him. He shot his arms into Louis' hair and held so tight there was no room for movement as he ignited a feverish kiss. 

Louis was the first to pull away from the kiss, Harry not letting go of his hair to allow him anymore distance. They settled their foreheads together, "Please," Harry gasped between ragged breaths, not understanding what he was begging for, but feeling like fire as Louis immediately quickened the pace. Each thrust brought the young boy closer to his limit, wracking him until he felt tears finally slicking their way down his cheeks. He didn't know whether it had been seconds or hours since he became a living inferno, and he didn't care as he begged for a final relief. Louis panted into Harry's open mouth, reaching down to stroke his cock in time with each thrust, despite how each one grew sloppy. After a total of five or six stroked, Harry's vision blurred as he cried out, wildly, at the waves of pleasure finally releasing the heat from his stomach. The world slowed, everything grew white, all he could hear was a muffled grunt underneath the ringing in his ears, all ending with an immediate sense of exhaustion as his hips were placed back down to the mattress.

When his eyes managed to focus on the tiny dents in Louis' ceiling, Harry glanced across the bed to see the blue-eyed boy peeling off a well used condom, taking care not to throw it into the heap on the floor and actually working to hide it within the niches of his bin. Harry allowed his eyes to close just as Louis bent down to grab his shirt from the floor and begin dressing himself, and kept them closed even as Louis worked to dress his body as well. He took great care not raising his torso too high when shoving the sweater over his head, to not lift his hips too high for placing his boxers or trousers where they belonged, and to not let anything other than his hands make skin on skin contact. 

Harry was practically asleep when he felt the familiar weight and texture of his sketch pad against his chest as he was lifted into the air by a stumbling Louis. He cradled the boy like a baby, not saying a word and keeping his body very rigid and (as Harry would put it) awkward despite what they had both gone through. The younger boy tried nuzzling his head into the crook of Louis' neck, and even found that to be an awkward receive even though he had done it plenty of times before that night. He didn't bother opening his eyes, he trusted the older boy enough to take care of him even as the cold air of the outside came crashing back down to him. Even as he winced away from the leather of Louis' passenger seat because his asshole was facing some major global warming down there. He waited for Louis to say something, anything. To crack a joke or say a compliment to clear the stuffy air. But, the car started, backed out the driveway, and went down the road without so much as the motor running beneath them.

"We shouldn't have done that, Haz," were the only words to break the silence.

* * *

 

Gemma came rushing out the front door almost the moment Louis' phone screen had gone dark, her eyes bleary and hair a mess as most children would be asleep instead of preparing themselves for the walk of shame at this time of night. Harry watched as Louis got out of the car and skidded to Gemma, her arms crossed and his shoved in his pockets, looking directly at each other and sharing words Harry had no chance of hearing through the glass window.

He didn't want to think the way he was, but a train can't slow down so soon after being started up, and Harry was burning all the mental coal he could get his hands on. Despite there being no way to sit or even move a leg comfortably, he had enjoyed the brief...intercourse...while it lasted. He thought they both had. But, Louis carried him so disconnected, not saying any comforting words and just throwing out negative comments like they were nothing. Because they were nothing.  _They. HarryandLouis. Were nothing._ Louis might have been everything Harry dreamed, but he was seventeen. Harry was only thirteen. What kind of seventeen year old genuinely wants a child? That's what Harry was: a child. He wasn't a Adonis, a work of art, or a dream. He was just a child. Louis probably did what he did just to get Harry off his back; give the baby a bottle so they'll shut up. Or, it was a spur the moment thing. The timing was right, the mood was intense, and Harry had been the first thing with a heartbeat and desire within the area, and no want to refuse. The train continued off the rails as Harry felt the bones in his hand pop against the pressure of his sketch pad. 

And he was tired. He was physically tired from working the equivalent of sprinting six marathons, mentally tired from the coming realization he was no longer a virgin and had lost said "treasure" to the one person who meant the world to him, and emotionally tired from all the internal fighting and that whole world not thinking the same. He didn't know how long Gemma and Louis planned to talk out on the sidewalk in freezing weather. He didn't care. All Harry really wanted to do was go to bed. So, he did. He let himself relax against the leather seats and started painting the darkest mural he could behind his eyes, imagining he was wrapped in warmth and happy. Before unconsciousness could finally win the race, Harry silently promised to give Gemma the drawing of the blue-eyed boy they had both loved so much. 

Because Louis was gone. 

Harry had a natural talent for losing people.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I haven't written smut...or anything...in months. Therefore, I apologize that this probably sucks...But they fucked, finally! See you next time, guys!  
> -M.


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